


the hands we race against

by figmentalities



Category: Runaways (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Asylum, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Asylum, Conspiracy, Depression, F/F, F/M, Multi, Mystery, Nico and Karolina are Big Gays tearing down the system and also being gay, Romance, bit of a slow burn, don't worry everyone gets the happiness they deserve in the end, gert has panic attacks, mental health topics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:08:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21696400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figmentalities/pseuds/figmentalities
Summary: Nico Minoru can't remember a life before The Gibborim Asylum for Psychiatric Rehabilitation. She can't remember a routine outside the dull, mundane existence she trudges through each and every day. The only solace she finds within the white-walled, high-security institute is Gertrude Yorkes, a young woman with purple hair and a horrific condition that sends her into fits of unexplainable, agonizing pain. With every new attack Gert suffers, Nico fears more and more that this disease will steal from her the one person who means something to her. That it will leave her frighteningly and utterly alone.But when a strange and beautiful new patient arrives demanding answers the doctors won't give, Nico finds her perception of reality uprooted. Karolina Dean draws her in like a magnet, awakens in Nico a drive to push forward she can't remember having ever felt before. And as the two grow closer, Nico suddenly finds herself tossed dizzyingly onto a time-sensitive quest: together, she and Karolina must rush to find a cure for Gert's mysterious illness before it kills her, and subsequently discover the truth behind their missing memories--who they really are--before they lose themselves to Gibborim entirely.
Relationships: Chase Stein/Gertrude Yorkes, Karolina Dean/Nico Minoru
Comments: 13
Kudos: 73





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Deanoru fandom! It's high time I finally begin creating some written content for this beautiful ship (though I've been making some art lately, I need to get in on the writing as well). This story is something I've been brewing for quite some time, so I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it!

Nico Minoru is walking on ice.

She treads precariously down the hall across a frozen stream, the tiles beneath her just as smooth and white and biting. The nerve endings in her extremities feel raw and exposed. Every step she takes shoots a chill more painful than the last through the arches of her feet and up the back of her legs. Even the soft fabric of her white cotton sleepwear seems to have transformed to steel wool overnight; it now scrapes relentlessly against her sensitive skin.

She lifts her sleeve to check for blood but, unsurprisingly, finds nothing. She never does. In front of her, a boy struggles to move upward in line, hindered by his own violent shivering.

“Next.”

The voice is distant and soft-spoken, yet it cuts through Nico’s skull like an icepick. The fluorescent lights reflect off the floor’s glossy finish, seeping right through her eyelids, and provide no relief from her pounding headache. Her stomach rolls. Five more people, she counts. Then it’s her turn to make the pain stop.

“Next.”

Nico inhales deeply through her nose and tries to distract herself, to focus on anything other than how awful she feels.

 _This is how it looks in the old movies_ , she thinks. The protagonist walks down a white hall in a white gown, dark hair flowing over her shoulders. She meets the white-clad woman sitting behind the frosted partition, who hands her a little plastic cup containing little blue capsules. She knocks back the pills, opens her mouth, and the woman dismisses her. Then she walks away only to spit the medication back out from under her tongue.

 _If only it were that easy._ Nico shakes her head. The movies always get it so horribly, unforgivably wrong. Of course the little film hero can refuse the pills when she can walk through the line with grace, when she feels steady on her feet and free from symptoms so frighteningly close to the flu. What the movies fail to show are the tremors, the sunken cheeks, the white-knuckled grip on one’s own wrists as they stumble down the line pale-faced and red-eyed, all sharp angles and knobby knees and greasy hair. And misery.

Nico can’t remember how long she’s been here, or how many times she’s walked herself through this routine. But she thinks about those vintage movie scenes every damn time.   
Maybe the film heroes are smart not to trust the wardens. Maybe Nico isn’t crazy, and the pills merely want her to _think_ she can’t live without them. Maybe what she feels at this moment isn’t the result of her condition, but withdrawal symptoms engineered to make her desperate for the next fix instead. Maybe she should refuse the medication and suffer through the detox until she’s clean and clear of mind.

But then what?

If there’s one thing Nico knows for certain, it’s this: it doesn’t matter.

The what-if’s carry no agency. Questioning her circumstances won’t change the fact that she’s stuck here, that once someone is admitted to The Gibborim Asylum for Psychiatric Rehabilitation, they don’t leave.

The boy in front of her mumbles a quivering thanks to the woman behind the partition and steps away toward the nearest warden. The man stands like a sentry, his white clothes nearly camouflaged against the wall, ready to beckon inpatients back to their rooms. Nico thinks maybe he’s just met her gaze, but her vision began spinning an hour ago and she can’t be fully certain she isn’t just imagining his stare.

“Next,” the woman calls, and Nico steps up to the tiny counter, bony elbows cupped in her palms. It’s Frances today.

“Hello, Ms. Minoru,” she says. Her voice is warm but mechanical, and the smile she offers matches perfectly. “How are you this morning?”

Nico doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to, not if she looks even half as horrible as she feels. Instead, she eyes the tiny plastic cup Frances holds in her hand and takes it graciously when the woman hands it to her. 

Who cares if the wardens make Nico dependent on the pills? Thirty minutes from now her hands will stop shaking, her heart rate will settle, and the tingling numbness plaguing her lips and fingertips will finally subside. Who cares, when the pills make it all go away?

So she takes them. 


	2. one

Gert is screaming again.

The sound cuts through Nico’s sleep like a lance, shrill and ear-splitting. If she didn’t know any better, she’d assume Gert was lying right next to her and crying into her ear rather than from her room across the hall. Sure enough, all that meets Nico when she cracks open her eyes is the white brick wall of her own bedroom. The sunlight streaming in through the bars in the window burns her eyes, and she squeezes them shut again to dull the ache. She’s never felt more grateful for her meds—if they hadn’t relieved this morning’s migraine, she would be in excruciating pain.

Like Gert is.

This isn’t a new or unexpected occurrence—Gert began experiencing these spells merely weeks after she’d been admitted to the institute—but they’ve been happening more and more frequently now. So often Nico wishes to throw her pillow over her head to drown out the sound, to slip back into the restful sleep that blesses her so rarely. But every new batch of screaming is always more desperate than the last, always more primal and guttural and heart-wrenching. So, once again, Nico finds herself goaded to her feet by the fear that this is it: the time Gertrude Yorkes will finally succumb to the pain and let it kill her.

White-clad doctors and nurses rush by when Nico eases her bedroom door open, and the stray black strands of her hair stir against her neck in their wake. The screams are louder now, and she winces against the sound. Glancing over, she spots several other patients poking their heads out from their bedchambers. Some step out into the hall, most press their hands against their ears. Nico can feel their eyes on her, and she knows they’re waiting for her to do what she does every time this happens. She shies away from the stares—the weight of the cynical attention is like a burden trying to push her into the floor. But she decides to meet their expectations anyway.

She follows the medics into Gert’s room.

The sight is always a painful one. Flanking Gert’s bed, nurses in white scrubs attempt to pin the girl down against the mattress as she writhes in agony. Matting her forehead and neck, strands of purple hair cling to Gert’s sweat-drenched skin. Her pretty, rounded features contort in pain as another scream rips from her body, hoarse from the abuse.

Nico hesitates in the doorway. There are too many people here. A doctor she doesn’t recognize stands by the bed, ordering the nurses to wheel the medical tray closer to him. In their hurry, the nurses push past a guard, who presses himself back up against the far wall and watches the activity unfold before him in abject horror.

Aside from Gert, this guard is the only familiar face in the room.

“Hold her still.” The doctor’s order is a menacing bark as he lifts a syringe slowly to eye level with a gloved hand. He flicks a finger gently against it, and Nico watches as he pushes a small string of silvery, almost phosphorescent fluid from the needle. “I said still.”

“We’re _trying_. She’s—” The nurse’s cry cuts off when Gert’s right arm wrests free from her grasp. Nico clasps a hand over her own mouth, as if to stifle the sob begging for release. Only the sound has lodged itself in her throat, and the only noise that escapes her is a quivering squeak. She can’t stand to watch this, and yet there’s no part of her capable of looking away. Nico bites into the flesh of her palm until she sees stars.

She senses the warmth beside her before she realizes someone’s standing there. “What’s happening?” a voice asks, low and almost comforting. The discordance between this quality and the distress of the situation is what tears Nico’s gaze from the scene before her and to the girl who’d appeared at her side.

Her breath catches. The girl standing next to her can’t possibly be human. She doesn’t belong here, neither amidst such a horrific setting nor in Nico’s bleak existence altogether. Where Gibborim residents are all sunken cheeks and pallor, the bronze tint to this girl’s fair skin produces a sharp contrast against the pristine whiteness of her clothing. Her cheeks round elegantly beneath curved cheekbones and her delicate lips, parted in alarm, lack the dry, dead skin so often found peeling on the more seasoned patients. Her hair, thick and long and breathtakingly golden, nestles at the back of her head in an elaborate intertwining of braids that leaves Nico speechless and utterly confused.

But it’s her eyes—a deep blue rimmed with the color of a stormy sea—that ultimately convinces Nico that this isn’t real. She’s dreaming.

“What are they doing to her?” the girl asks, cutting through the fog in Nico’s brain. “What’s wrong? Is she—?”

“You!” The sudden voice makes Nico jump, and she tears her eyes from the apparition to find the guard standing in front of her. His eyes are wide and terrified. Their dark color stands out against his sickly pallid skin. For a moment Nico fears he’s about to faint. “You,” he repeats, quieter now. Nico can barely hear him over Gert’s heart-wrenching screams. “What’s your name?”

Her answer comes out in a rush of breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Nico.”

“Nico,” the guard repeats. His lips quiver as he turns back to look at Gert. “You’re her friend, right? She trusts you?”

“I—”

“Please.” He reaches out, and his fingers brush against Nico’s arm. She reflexively recoils away from his touch, but he immediately seems to realize what he’s done. He pins his hands at his side. “Please, try to calm her down. They’re trying to help her, but they can’t if she fights them.”

So many times, Gert has slipped into these fits of pain. So many times, Nico has stood in this very spot, watching as the doctors and nurses tend to the only friend she has, feeling helpless and powerless and terrified.

This time is different. This time a security guard is telling her that Gert needs her, and suddenly it’s as if someone flips a switch in Nico’s brain. Awakening from her trance, she moves on autopilot, and with a burst of strength she didn’t know she had, pushes past the guard and rushes to Gert’s side. She reaches around the nurse struggling to pin Gert’s wrist to the bed and laces her fingers with her friend’s.

“Good,” the doctor says, curt and demanding. “Get her still.”

Nico doesn’t know how to do this. Squeezing Gert’s hand in both of hers, she begins shouting over the cries. “Gert,” she says. “ _Gert, it’s me_. It’s Nico. They let me in this time.”   
Gert’s breath shakes as she inhales. Her eyes remain tightly shut, but she turns her head toward the sound of Nico’s voice. Another sob bubbles past her lips.

“Keep it up,” the doctor orders.

“Gert, if you can hear me… if you can hear me, I need you to listen, okay?” Nico fails to steady her own trembling hand as she gently wipes the overgrown bangs from Gert’s hot, sticky forehead. “You’re safe. You’re with me, okay? I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not leaving you until this passes, do you hear me? I promise.”

Gert’s breath hitches. She groans, a deep and frightening sound, through her gnashed teeth before gasping again. But she doesn’t scream this time. Nico feels a pressure against her fingers as Gert squeezes them back.

“Now,” Nico says. It won’t be until later that she realizes she’d just barked an order to the doctor himself. But if he hates her for it, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, the man takes the opportunity to insert the syringe needle into Gert’s arm.

Gert releases one last, strangled cry, before collapsing against the mattress. Her thrashing ceases until she’s left a shuddering, gasping mess that leaves Nico feeling emotionally messier. As the nurses step away from the bed, Nico slumps forward, leaning her elbows into the damp sheets and struggling to hold herself together. She presses Gert’s limp fingers against her forehead and inhales deeply through her nose. She’s completely spent. She can’t even imagine how Gert must be feeling.

She can hear the doctor speaking to the nurses, can hear the med tray’s creaky protests as they shuffle it from the room, but she doesn’t look up once. It isn’t until she feels something warm rest atop her shoulder that she eases her grip on Gert’s hand.

“Thank you,” the guard’s voice is soft. Only now does Nico take a moment to truly focus on him, on the severity of his fear when he begged her to help Gert. Chase, if she remembers his name correctly. Gert once said she believed him to be “one of the few guards capable of displaying actual human emotion.” Nico always knew it to be true—he was the only guard she ever saw smile or interact with the patients in a way that reflected he saw them as a person, as an individual. It isn’t until now, however, that she believes it.

“You did really well,” Chase adds. Part of Nico wants to grant him the decency of a response, but she neither moves nor speaks. No one knows better than she that there are times where words mean nothing, where they fail.

So, she says nothing. But she doesn’t move away from his touch either. 

A soft moan finally goads Nico’s eyes up from the white bedding. Gert stirs slightly, her eyelids flutter for just a moment. Then she stills. Nico can feel the welt in her throat as she watches Gert’s chest rise and fall, steadily, and she has to tell herself that this isn’t the end. Gert is alright, for now.

Gert hasn’t left her alone.

Nico can still feel the weight of Chase’s hand on her shoulder when something catches her attention. Someone stands in the doorway. Guiding her gaze away from Gert, she turns toward the door, ready to yell at the patient encroaching on her privacy. On Gert’s privacy.

But the words become lost in her lungs somewhere. The strange girl continues to stand there, blue eyes locked on Nico in a way that makes her feel both uncomfortable and fascinated, both vulnerable and…admired. Then, without a word, the girl disappears down the hall, leaving Nico to wonder whether or not she’d simply imagined her existence.


	3. two

Nico’s heard it said that time’s nothing but a construct. That it isn’t real, but rather a concept created by humans in their desperate need to manifest a type of order to their lives. Something systematic and as close to tangible as possible. Maybe it’s true, maybe it isn’t—Nico doesn’t much care about the logistics behind (or the validity of) the yearly calendar. But if someone asked her what she thought about the whole thing, she’d tell them this: time’s impotence never seems truer when you drag through the same routine every god-forsaken day of your life.

The restlessness is chronic. She feels it buzzing in her limbs now as her fingers flutter over the thirty-six-piece sliding puzzle in the rec room. She’s worked on it no less than forty-five minutes already, and it wasn’t until half an hour into the activity that she’d finally figured out the image she’s trying to make: a long, snake-like dragon. Its body weaves throughout the wooden tiles, coiling around itself until it forms an infinity symbol. It’s an intricately detailed work of line art.

Nico slides the tiles back and forth in their frame with agitated fingers. Of the few mind-sharpening exercises the Gibborim Asylum provides their patients, she enjoys the sliding puzzles most. They allow her stir-crazy limbs just enough stimulation to keep her sane. Or, at the very least, not entirely _in_ sane.

This particular puzzle, however, is a challenge she’d give up in a heartbeat if there were anything better for her to do here. But there isn’t—there never is—so she pours over the puzzle until the image is almost completely reconstructed. Then she realizes two of the corner tiles must be switched. But she can’t, not without moving all the other tiles around them and beginning almost completely over.

“Shit,” she mutters.

“You almost had it that time.” Gert’s voice is encouraging as she peers over Nico’s shoulder. Encouraging, but not exactly helpful.

Nico chuckles dryly. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Her fingers fly over the board more quickly now, sliding the blocks with little care. Trying in vain to resurrect some semblance of order to the panels again.

“You’ve flown through pretty much all the other puzzles here,” Gert offers. “You’ve got this one in the bag too.”

“Maybe I would if this one wasn’t impossible.” Nico grits her teeth. She fights the urge to throw the puzzle across the room.

“Maybe you just need a little more patience.”

“Or _maybe_ it’s you,” Nico says. She turns to shoot Gert a flustered scowl. “Maybe I can’t do this with you breathing down my neck.”

The ghost of a smile passes over Gert’s lips. “Performance anxiety?” she asks.

“Ha-ha.” Nico leans forward, as if pressing her nose against the puzzle will help her solve it. “I’m pretty sure they made this one impossible just to mess with me.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Boredom?”

Gert chuckles this time, genuinely amused. “Nico Minoru, conspiracy theorist,” she announces to no one in particular. A girl on the other side of the room glances up at the sound, but quickly averts her gaze back to the crossword page she’s been scribbling over for the last hour.

“Yeah, forget this,” Nico says and lowers the puzzle onto her lap in surrender.

“Don’t give up on it.”

“I won’t forever, okay? It’s just that if I stare at this poor disembodied dragon another second, I’m either gonna punch a wall or blow my own head off.”

“With what?”

“Sheer will.”

Nico can feel Gert’s warm breath against her neck as she leans closer to study the puzzle. “You want help?” Gert asks.

“No. I’d be pissed if I didn’t finish this myself.”

“Oh, good!” Gert settles back in her own chair and folds her knees up to her chest. “I didn’t want to try it anyway.”

It’s Nico’s turn to smile a little. Despite her declaration, she finds her fingers continuing to fiddle with the sliding tiles, not ready to quit fidgeting just yet.

For a moment, the two girls sit quietly, side-by-side in two of the many white chairs donning the rec room. They aren’t the only patients in the room right now, but they’re the only two having a conversation. In one corner, a girl with frizzy hair had been mumbling to herself in another language for some time, but she’d since traded the activity with staring at the wall in utter silence. Her fingers tap rhythmically against her knees, and for a fleeting moment the thought occurs to Nico that maybe she’d been a pianist in her early life. Her past life. Her life before Gibborim.

Nico allows her eyes to stray toward one of the windows, and she frowns when they land on a young boy standing at an easel beside it. The white apron he wears over his patient’s garb is splashed with varying shades of acrylic blacks and grays, matching the pallet he holds. His smooth features are placid, emotionless as he sweeps the paintbrush against the canvas in small, measured movements. Mechanical.

Nico wonders for a moment if he’s painting a grayscale replica of the view out the window, but when she cranes her neck to gain a better look at his artwork, she realizes it isn’t the property outdoors he’s painting. It’s the window.

He’s captured it perfectly, down to the reflection of the sunlight against the menacing tar of the bars that sit just beyond the glass. Prison bars, Nico thinks. Little onyx monuments constructed to remind tenants that no one is to attempt climbing out the window. But it’s the idea that someone would wish to exit from the third story of a building that concerns Nico the most. It’s no secret that the patients admitted to Gibborim are mentally and emotionally unstable. But to jump from the third-floor window…

“Is it just me,” Gert begins, breaking the silence between them. “Or has he been staring at me a lot lately?”

Tearing her eyes from the boy and his painting, Nico follows Gert’s gaze toward the hall entrance on the other side of the room. Chase stands in the threshold, hands stuffed in his pockets. He isn’t the only guard in the room—quite a few have passed through since Nico and Gert had taken up shop here—but he’s the only one paying attention to them. Gert has her eyes on Nico, imploring, but Chase’s eyes are on Gert. He must sense Nico’s attention, however, because his dark gaze meets hers a second later. He turns away quickly. His stare doesn’t once leave his feet afterwards.

“Yeah, well.” Nico glances back down to the puzzle in her lap. “He was there, you know. Back when…well. You know, on…” She trails off, at a loss for words.

“Monday?”

“Depends. What’s today?”

“Wednesday.” Nico isn’t sure whether Gert truly knows the days of the week anymore or if she just thinks she does, but Nico never questions it.

Instead, she heaves a heavy sigh. “Then, yes. Monday.”

Gert’s nod is almost imperceptible. With a timid cough, she pushes against her glasses, even though they hadn’t slipped down her nose. “Oh,” she finally murmurs. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Nico tightens her grip on the puzzle’s frame. “What is there to be embarrassed about?”

“I don’t _know_.” Nico is sure she doesn’t imagine it when Chase’s head lifts at the sound of Gert’s voice. Gert, on the other hand, has turned herself around in the chair so drastically her back now faces him. “The fact that anyone has to see that shit is humiliating.”

“Gert.”

“I don’t get it,” Gert says. Her lips draw in tightly. “I don’t get why they don’t just brand me a lost cause.”

“ _Gert._ ”

“No. Seriously, Nico. They don’t _have_ to keep me here, do they? Keep me _alive_? They could put me out of my misery, show a little compassion. Instead, I’m left sitting here wondering when it’s going to happen next, fearing—” Gert’s voice falters a beat. Her tongue fishes for the right words. “—fearing literally _every_ _single_ second of my bleak existence. Cowering under the watchful eye of every nurse and security guard and patient just… _studying_ me like I’m nothing more than a ticking time bomb revving to explode at _any minute_.”

“Hey.” Nico grabs ahold of Gert’s shoulders so abruptly, the puzzle slides off her lap and onto the floor. “Don’t talk like that.”

Gert’s eyes are wide. “How am I supposed to talk?”

“Not…like that.”

Gert releases a laugh bereft of amusement. “Then give me some suggestions, because I’d very much love to hear some right now.”

Nico opens her mouth to respond, but no sound is forthcoming. She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t have any suggestions to offer. The words _you can’t leave me alone_ sits in her throat, but she swallows them down. She can tell Gert knows she’s given up, because the other girl sits back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. Nico wants to do the same. She wonders idly if the warmth from her own self-embrace will soothe the ache in her diaphragm.

She doesn’t get the chance to find out. Before she can even move, she spots a hand reaching down to pick up the puzzle at her feet.

“Were you working on this?” The voice is low, almost airy, and vaguely familiar. Heart already beginning to race, Nico lifts her head to greet the new arrival, and suddenly the puzzle isn’t the only thing she’s dropped. Her stomach seems to plummet right out from her feet and through the floor.

She hasn’t seen this girl since Gert’s episode two days ago. In fact, Nico had all but convinced herself entirely that her mental distress had conjured the ethereal vision as some sick means of coping. But here she is again, crouching in front of Nico and holding out the puzzle as if the world hasn’t just tossed Nico’s emotions into a treacherous somersault.

The girl’s smile, so warm and inviting, falters as she glances from Nico to Gert. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Did I interrupt?”

“No.” Nico welcomes the wave of relief that washes over her when Gert responds. Her own words have lodged themselves so tightly in her throat she can barely breathe. “No, we were just…talking.”

“Oh.” The girl’s smile reappears. “I just thought maybe you’d want this back.” She nudges the puzzle closer to Nico, offering it up to her.

The words that spill out of Nico’s mouth surprise even herself. “You can keep it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m stuck on it anyway.”

“What?” Gert asks, challenging Nico. “I thought you said you weren’t gonna give up on it.”

“Yeah, well.” Nico shrugs. She hopes the action comes off as nonchalant, but guesses it leans more along the lines of stilted and hopelessly awkward. “I changed my mind.”

She watches the girl’s brow quirk downward a moment, watches her lips purse. Nico doesn’t realize she’s staring at those lips until the girl turns away to kneel beside the table. Nico lowers her gaze back to her hands folded together in her lap, fingers knotting together until her knuckles are white as the room. Conversely, she knows her ears are bright red—she can feel them burning, hot and sensitive—and it’s all she can do to hope upon hope that this stranger is too engrossed with the puzzle to notice. She can feel Gert’s penetrating stare. That’s bad enough.

The girl sets the puzzle onto the table, considering it for a moment. “What if you tried doing this?” she asks. Lifting the frame, she tugs at the corners until, one by one, they detach from their spokes.

“Wait, you’re just gonna take it apart?” Gert’s tone is critical. Nico, on the other hand, can’t seem to tear her eyes from the girl’s fingers—long and golden and graceful—as she begins manipulating the dismantled tiles now free from their box.

“You’re supposed to make it into a picture, right?” she asks.

“That’s not the point of the puzzle.” Nico can hear the stupidity in her own voice.

The girl’s smile broadens into a breathtaking grin. Challenging. “Maybe, but maybe it’s more interesting this way. See?” The girl continues to fit the tiles together with deft speed, and the dragon’s shape once again springs to life. “Usually, these pieces can’t move freely. Just within the limited space provided for them. But remove what’s restricting them, and…” The girl nudges the tip of the dragon’s tail into its rightful place. “They can finally create what they’re supposed to. To be what they’re meant to be.”

Visibly pleased with her work, the girl smiles up at Nico and Gert, who gape at her. Gert opens her mouth as if to retort some smart-alec comment, but snaps her lips shut again. Nico is so dumbfounded, she can hardly react.

The same words slip off her tongue a moment later and leave her cringing. “But, that’s not the point of the puzzle.”

The girl tilts her head back when she laughs, a pleasant, ringing sound. “Maybe _that’s_ the point,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” Gert finally speaks up. She pushes at her glasses a second time, flustered. “Who even are you again?”

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry.” The girl offers Gert her hand. “My name’s Karolina.”

“Karolina.” Gert repeats the name just as slowly as she shakes her hand. “And why are you here? In Gibborim, I mean.”

Karolina’s smile falters. “I…don’t actually remember,” she responds.

Three hours from now, the concerning and mysterious aspects of this answer will leave Nico more perplexed than the puzzle had. For now, however, as she continues to stare at Gibborim’s newest addition, it doesn’t even register. She’s too absorbed with the vexing yet stunning color of Karolina’s eyes, that silvery blue muted with tones of gray. Like the ocean. Only Nico doesn’t feel like she’s swimming in their waves. Instead, she feels like she’s drowning.

* * *

“Would you like to talk about it?”

The words cut into the haze clouding Nico’s mind, urging her to lift her heavy head just slightly. The first five minutes listening to the psychiatrist’s quiet, airy voice had already sent her surrendering most of her five senses—Nico had long let her eyes lose focus, granting them temporary relief as she’d shifted her attention to the throw pillow in her lap and lost herself in the sensations the tiny fibers tickled into her fingertips.

Tearing her gaze from the pillow now and up to Janet Stein’s expectant expression proves a strenuous task. “What?”

Crossing one leg over the other, Janet smooths down an imperceptible wrinkle in her gray blazer before clearing her throat. “Monday’s events,” she repeats. “The attack Ms. Yorkes suffered. Is that something you’d like to talk about?”

“Um,” Nico’s voice is hollow in her own ears. When she speaks, the words travel slowly. “I…I mean, I don’t know what I’m…supposed to say.”

Janet nods. She places the clipboard previously tucked into the crook of her arm onto her lap. “Well, I’ve heard from some of the nurses and techs that you’ve been a bit more sociable recently. It seems you and Gertrude have become friends—”

“Gert,” Nico corrects.

“—And while that’s wonderful and hugely indicative of the kinds of progress you’ve been making…” Janet pauses, her features shifting into the sympathetic expression Nico hates so much. She has a way of clasping her hands tightly in her lap when she looks at her like this—she knots her fingers together until the blood rushes to them—that puts Nico on edge every time they meet. “I can’t imagine seeing a friend suffer the way Ms. Yorkes does is very easy for you.”

“It wouldn’t be easy for anyone.”

“No, of course not.” Janet clears her throat again. “But you walked into her room amidst chaos and confusion. Helped her calm down just enough for the doctors and nurses to treat her. I have to say, I think that was very brave of you. Very selfless.”

Nico shakes her head. Averting her eyes to the window, she locks her gaze momentarily on the withering leaves still clinging desperately to the branches of a nearby tree, quivering in the cool breeze outside. Just how many seasons have passed since she’d first arrived at Gibborim, she fears she may never truly remember. “I wasn’t being selfless,” she says.

“I beg to differ.” Janet’s voice grows even quieter. “The progress you’ve been making is remarkable, and your actions Monday prove that. You shouldn’t sell yourself short.”

“Sell myself short?” Nico laughs. It’s barely more than a breath forced from her nostrils as she turns back to look at Janet. “How can I do that when I don’t even know who… _myself_ is? You talk about progress I’ve been making. I don’t even know what I’m progressing towards. Or _from_.”

Janet frowns. “Now, Nico, we’ve been over this before.”

“Have we?” Nico asks. The words Karolina spoke to her in the rec room only three hours ago still echo in her mind, cutting away at something deep in the back of her consciousness she’d long forgotten how to access. Her shaking knee disrupts the pillow balancing on her lap, and she clutches at it so tightly now that her fingernails dig into the fabric. “Right. Because I forget everything.”

The frustrated tears stinging Nico’s eyes prompt her to close her mouth, send her chewing at her bottom lip just as she’d bitten down the nails scraping at her pillow. She waits for Janet to say something, to offer some empty words meant to comfort her, but she doesn’t. Not yet at least. Instead, Nico lowers her eyes to the floor to avoid that same, pitiful expression.

“You came to us about two years ago, Nico,” Janet finally speaks up. Her voice is low, tentative, but not entirely uncomforting. Nico hates it. “Something had happened, something you’ve forgotten that we haven’t been able to uncover yet. You had a psychotic breakdown. You weren’t well. Experienced anxiety, depression, and particularly frightening hallucinations. You were becoming a danger to yourself and others. Not through any fault of your own, mind you, and certainly not intentionally. Still, it warranted immediate action. Treatment. _You_ recognized it in yourself, came here on your own accord and admitted yourself by choice.”

“About two years ago?” Nico asks.

“Yes.”

Nico swallows back the knot in her throat. “I hate that I don’t remember any of it.”

“It’s frustrating, I know,” Janet says. “But not uncommon. There are many patients here suffering from the same kind of retroactive memory gaps.”

“I met someone.” Janet’s words fling Nico back to Karolina, to the lines etched into the girl’s pretty brow as she struggled to remember what had brought her to Gibborim. “She doesn’t know why she’s here, either. Can’t remember what happened just like I can’t. Like Gert, too.”

Janet nods. “Yes.”

“So, you mean to tell me we’re all suffering the same thing?”

“Not exactly, no. The underlying causes of your admittances into the hospital are not the same, but the results have all been similar.” Releasing a heavy sigh, Janet leans forward to place her clipboard face-down onto the small table between them. “Nico,” she continues. “This specific section of the ward is designated to patients being treated specifically for acute psychogenic amnesia. Dissociative amnesia. It’s a disorder characterized by these memory gaps you’re experiencing, usually caused or catalyzed by some kind of—”

“—Trauma or stress,” Nico finishes.

Janet smiles. “You remember that.”

“It just kind of came to me.”

“And that’s okay.” Leaning forward, Janet collects her clipboard back into her hands and unclips a pen from the side. Nico finds herself equal parts comforted by the soothing sound of the ballpoint running gently over the paper and curious to discover exactly what it is the psychiatrist is writing about her. “That’s what the therapy is for. To expose you to different scenarios and images in the hopes of chipping away at the blocks your mind’s created. To try uncovering some of those lost memories.”

“Doesn’t explain why I can’t even remember my childhood,” Nico counters. “Why I can’t remember some of the experiences I’ve had _here_. Couldn’t have _all_ been that bad, right?”

“Well,” Janet clasps her hands over her knees. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

“Right.”

“The good news is, with this specific disorder, your memories aren’t gone. They still exist somewhere, deeply buried somewhere in your psyche, cut off from the rest of you.”

Nico can’t help her sardonic tone. “That does sound like good news.”

“Unfortunately, the doctors believe your amnesia is comorbid with the nature of your psychotic episodes,” Janet continues, as though Nico hadn’t commented. “This means there is a certain level of caution they must take when conducting your therapy sessions. There are many different factors and variables they must consider, and as you uncover more and more of your memories, the doctors will be required to sift through them and attempt distinguishing between which memories are truly yours and which have been conjured by your imagination. Additionally—” Janet pauses, fishes for the right words. “—there is a danger in unlocking too many memories too quickly, as it can be…overwhelming and…potentially detrimental to a patient’s recovery.”

“So, how do we know which of my memories are real and which aren’t?” Nico asks. Something soft brushes against her finger, and she glances down to find that one of her nails has torn a hole in the throw pillow, releasing some of the cotton filling.

Janet twists her mouth to one side. “It’s hard to know for certain.”

Nico nods, slowly. Millimeter by millimeter, she allows her vice grip on the damaged pillow to slacken. Struggling to recall the information Janet’s shared with her during their past sessions, she clicks her tongue behind closed lips. “I think you told me once that…there’s no family that can help—”

“I’m afraid not, Nico. The people here at Gibborim, they’ve tried time and time again to trace you back to family members, friends, but your records also had alarming gaps in them.” Janet rubs at her nose with the back of her knuckles. “Whoever you were before you brought yourself here, Ms. Minoru, it would appear you’d cut yourself off completely from other people. I’m afraid we don’t have anyone who can help us validate the accuracy of your memories right now. But we are doing our best. The more progress we make treating your amnesia, the sooner we can begin treating your underlying conditions. The closer we get to giving you an accurate diagnosis and developing the treatment plan best for you.”

Nico nods again, more out of habit than anything else. She recalls Janet telling her this before, some time ago, but she needed to hear it again, needed to confirm to herself that her mind hadn’t once again attempted to play some sick trick on her.

“So, Gert’s missing memories too,” she says. “And that new patient. Karolina. Their memory gaps are from their own conditions? Like Gert’s illness? Her episodes?”

“I’m afraid I’m not authorized to share the details of another patient’s diagnosis with you, Nico,” Janet explains. She offers a small smile. “But I can assure you that, yes, their own dissociative amnesia is not anything out of the ordinary. The doctors here are working to help them just as hard as they are working to help you.”

Nico wants to rebut, to quiz Janet further, but the enormity of the questions still swarming in her mind renders her speechless. There’s no way for her to know whether the answers Janet gives her are correct, or simply a means of satisfying her curiosity for the time being instead. Perhaps everything is merely a ruse designed to dupe Nico into a false sense of security. Perhaps her suspicions really are warranted. Or perhaps her paranoia is simply another side effect of her psychosis. And yet, the more Nico dwells on these thoughts—the more she sits staring at her psychiatrist—the closer she grows to reaching the same conclusion she fabricates every day of her mundane and inevitable existence in Gibborim: that none of it matters. She’s stuck here either way.

Gathering the pillow into her hands, Nico leans forward and places it onto the coffee table. “Sorry I ripped it,” she says.


	4. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I want to thank you all for your patience. I know I'm updating a lot later than I wanted, but with my birthday and Christmas and my sister's engagement party and having company over (and getting sick on top of everything), time really slipped away from me. BUT! Now that everything's finally settling down a little, I should be able to update more regularly now. I know this chapter is a little shorter than I wanted it to be too, but I really wanted to finally get it out there for you all! A couple curious events are going to begin happening from here on out, and the action will begin to pick up from here, hehe ;) 
> 
> Again, thank you all for your patience and all your kind comments so far. I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> \- Lauren

The siren wakes Nico first.

It cuts into the heavy sleep that’d finally fallen over her, tugging her from her momentary respite. Through the fog in her mind she tries clinging to the inexplicable emotion still coursing through her veins, the rapidly fading remains of some dream she’s already forgotten. Nico runs her hands over her face and groans. This is the third time the sirens have gone off this week.

She hears the screaming next. Frustrated that she can’t remember the source of the overwhelming feeling her dream had given her and irritated that she’d been roused from it, Nico pushes herself to a seated position. Through the security lights filtering through her window from outside, she peers at the clock hanging high up near the ceiling. It’s 4:30am.

The shouts that join the screaming coax Nico from her bed, momentarily alerting her to the possibility that Gert is suffering another attack. But it doesn’t sound like Gert.

One peek out into the hallway confirms her suspicions. Squinting against the sudden brightness, Nico spots several nurses and a few security guards grouped a few doors down, attempting to calm an overly excited patient she can’t see yet. But it isn’t Gert. Nico catches a flash of dark, curly hair as the girl struggles against the efforts opposing her.

“I swear I’m telling the truth! _You don’t know anything!_ ” The patient breaks free from the nurses, screaming over them. Nico finally recognizes her as one of the younger admissions. Molly…something. Nico struggles to remember. “You’re not listening to me! I’m strong. _Really_ strong. I’m stronger than _all of you combined_.”

“We hear you, Ms. Hernandez.”

“But you’re not _listening!_ ” With a shriek, Molly yanks her arm from the grip of one of the smaller nurses. The woman staggers forward, eyes wide and terrified. “I snapped my bed _in half_. Look in my room and you’ll believe me!”

“I’m looking at your bed and nothing’s out of the ordinary,” a male nurse shouts and, for a quick and fleeting moment, Nico finds herself curious to step forward and peak into Molly’s room herself to assess its condition. Beside the man, Nico spots another nurse readying a syringe, fumbling with it in her gloved hands. A sedative.

“What do you mean? You…you don’t see it? It’s right there!” Molly screams, gesturing wildly toward her door. Her eyes are wide and desperate. “I’m not imagining it!”

_Stop. Just stop fighting them_ , Nico repeats wearily in her own mind, silently pleading with the girl to put an end to the chaos. Still caught somewhere between reality and a fabricated memory, she leans heavily against her doorframe. _Stop fighting or you’ll go to Solitary._ Down the hall, beyond the excitement, Nico’s eyes catch sight of Gert’s purple hair emerging from her own room.

“Wait!” Molly thrusts her hands out in front of her, prompting the Gibborim staff to fan out cautiously around her, as if frightened by what she might do next. Somewhere in the back of Nico’s mind she likens the girl to a wild animal trainer, arms outstretched in some careful attempt to placate and calm the beasts snarling before her.

“Wait,” Molly repeats, softer now as the voices permeating every inch of the corridor begin to quiet. Outside, the siren continues to wail. “Wait, I-I can…I can show you. I can prove it.”

Interest piqued now, Nico watches as Molly lowers her arms to her sides. She closes her eyes, growing slowly still as though preparing to pull a force from the very core of the earth itself. It’s quite the intriguing display, and equally upsetting as Nico notices the sudden gesture the male nurse signals to his companion.

A verbal warning lodges itself in Nico’s throat, fighting to break free. Instead, Nico keeps her lips pursed tightly together as the woman plunges her syringe into Molly’s upper arm and surprises the girl out of her focus. An expression of betrayal washes over Molly’s face, and her eyes widen briefly in devastation before they roll back. The stronger, more physically fit members of the staff rush to catch Molly when she slumps forward, supporting her between them. Among the commotion, another nurse slips behind the group and eases the door to Molly’s bedroom shut before locking it.

“Everyone back in their rooms,” a security guard commands. Nico finds herself briefly disappointed that Chase isn’t one of them, and she wonders if the situation might have ended differently had he been here. But he never is—he must only work the day shift—and once again another patient’s struggle ends the way the others have. It’s another Thursday morning.

Nico shares a quick, tired glance with Gert down the hall as the remaining patients grumble dejectedly to themselves. Then, slowly, she eases her own door closed.

* * *

“Are you not gonna eat this morning?”

Nico blinks at Gert, willing her eyes to focus on the little gleam of light reflecting off the rim of her glasses before lowering her gaze to the food piled onto the paper plate in front of her. She pokes at the glop of rehydrated eggs and lazily eyes the soggy bacon beside them. The special food item of the week. Nico’s stomach churns painfully.

“No, I am,” she mumbles. She lifts one of the greasy strips with her plastic fork and holds it up to her nose. It doesn’t smell terrible, at least. “Sorry, I’m just tired today.”

“When is anyone here not tired?” Gert averts her attention back to the food on her own plate and shovels some of the eggs onto her fork. “Did you get any sleep after everything happened?”

“With Molly? I think so.”

“But not much?”

Nico attempts a bite out of her bacon. When it doesn’t tear, she resorts to shoving the entire strip into her mouth instead before speaking. “It was more like a weird limbo than anything else.”

“Kind of like most nights, huh?”

Nico nods, shifting her focus toward the strenuous task of gnawing down the bacon fat. The conversations she and Gert have during breakfast are mundane and redundant and bereft of real substance. However, they are just stimulating enough to keep their minds busy and their thoughts from running rampant into some dark cavern they cannot escape. No, they’d long discovered just how important these short little exchanges are in keeping their sanity here.

Stealing a glance toward the table beside theirs, Nico catches sight of the three patients grouped silently together. None of them speak to one another, yet one girl whispers into her watered-down oatmeal, giggling as if it’d just spilled to her all her companions’ dirtiest secrets. Somewhere in the back of Nico’s mind she recalls that her name is Destiny, and she wonders, in all the girl’s wildest dreams, if she’d ever predicted her own destiny would be to wind up here. Alone.

“They took her to Solitary.” Gert’s voice tears Nico’s attention from the adjacent table. Her lips are pursed in a tiny frown. “Didn’t they?”

Nico finally swallows down the bacon. “Probably.”

“It’s a shame. I…I didn’t know her very well, but…” Gert trails off, focused on the remaining eggs she combs her fork through. As she scoops a bite into her mouth, she shrugs. “She always complimented me on my hair.”

“It is nice hair,” Nico comments, feigning nonchalance as she fights not to think about Molly cooped up in Solitary Confinement, surrounded by padded white walls designed to absorb her screams. Slowly driving Molly madder and more desperate than she’d ever felt surrounded by other patients. Doing far more harm than good.

“Eh, my roots are like three inches long at this point,” Gert says. “I wish they’d let me touch it up again, but they probably won’t for another several months.”

“And only if you behave.”

“When have I ever _not_ behaved?”

Nico shrugs, offering a half-sincere smile. “You shouldn’t have too much to worry about, then.”

A sudden sob steals the girls’ attentions toward the back of the room, where one of the newer patients pleads with a white-clad tech. Nico manages to pick out a few of the sentences she says through her hitching gasps. “I’ve been good after the window incident…Please. I want to go outside this week… Can’t you vouch for me? Tell them I’ve been good?”

“Holy shit, it’s Thursday, isn’t it?” Gert asks. “We get to go outside today.”

Nico smiles a little as she attempts to drown out the woman’s cries. “Good thing you’ve behaved after all.”

Gert chuckles a little, half-heartedly. She combs her fingers through her hair, fighting to free a few knots as she speaks. “How do you want to do it this time? Together or alone?”

“If it’s alright with you,” Nico begins. A particularly loud shout from the patient causes her to wince. If the woman doesn’t calm soon, she too will be taken away to Solitary. Just like Molly. “If its alright with you, I’d like to venture out alone today.”

Gert nods. “I understand,” she says, and suddenly Nico wants more than anything to somehow skip the next few hours, to rush through their scheduled television time in the rec room and escape into the fresh air. 

* * *

Clarity is a disorienting thing.

Typically cooped up in a lifeless and colorless environment, Nico finds it easy for the brain fog to spread the longer she remains indoors. She allows it to numb her hearing, her sense of taste and smell and touch. She wills it to weaken her eyes, dulling and blurring her eyesight as she keeps them unfocused at a chip in the wall paint or smudge on the tile floor.

The bright, kinetic life that greets her when she finally steps outside nearly overwhelms her every time.

The autumn air is cool today, but the sun is warm. It’s an inviting comfort against her sensitive skin, like a gentle embrace from an old friend welcoming her back into its arms, and Nico finds the heavy lump in her throat tighten again. Her vision blurs momentarily, this time not from voluntary lack of focus but instead from the stinging tears that surface the moment she takes that first, deep breath. She lets the fresh, energetic breeze fill her aching chest.

As she walks, Nico allows herself to tune back into her senses. She listens to the crisp crunch of the dried and deadened leaves under her feet, to the clatter of the occasional stone she sends rolling over its companions with a small kick of her shoe. She focuses her eyes on the grass, counting as she continues slowly onward and noting the sharp lines and edges of the pale green blades. The air is tinged with the scent of smoke, of some controlled fire or factory or chimney somewhere in the distance, hidden behind the trees that shield the hospital from the rest of the world. Somewhere in the recesses of Nico’s mind, she knows the smell reminds her of autumn. It’s the ghost of some excitement she can’t remember feeling but recognizes all the same.

She only allows herself to ponder these things outdoors.

A distant shout behind her brings her back to the present. Turning to glance over her shoulder, Nico spies one of the white-clad nurses chasing after a laughing patient, a girl Nico doesn’t know very well. The girl believes her very real and serious circumstances are a game today. She holds a piece of paper up in the air, shouts something unintelligible, and tosses it toward the nurse. As the nurse scrambles to retrieve the paper, the girl cackles again and races off toward a group of patients huddles under a nearby magnolia, where she begins collecting the browning blossoms that had fallen there. It’s very likely the paper is blank.

Tearing her eyes from the scene, Nico finds she’d inadvertently begun wandering down her routine path once more. She can feel the eyes of another nurse on her as she turns to continue her journey toward the southwest fence, daring to approach as close as she can without convincing someone that she’s attempting an escape plan.

The idea alone is ludicrous—everyone at Gibborim knows the tall wire fence, towering up over the hospital’s second floor windows, is armed. Even if the security guards hadn’t warned her about the fence’s danger, Nico can hear its low, menacing hum now even from ten yards away. Just a single touch would trigger an electrical pulse strong enough to kill her in seconds.

She may be institutionalized, but Nico knows even she isn’t that ignorant.

So, no, she will not escape today. What she will do, however, is peer through the gaps in the fence’s wiring from where she stands and gaze off at the storage building in the distance, isolated from the rest of the asylum. The structure stands along the edge of the trees, its old and faded bricks blending into the rust-colored leaves still adorning the tree branches behind it. Like some exiled sentry, it extends upward two stories, and its dark windows stare back at Nico like the cold and sunken sockets of a skull that’d long lost its eyes.

It’s all very haunting. Curious. And for reasons Nico cannot explain, she loves it.

“What’s over here?”

The sudden nearby voice sends Nico jumping a mile. Heart clamoring in her throat, she half-expects to see Gert standing beside her despite the agreement they’d made at breakfast. She is not prepared, however, to see Karolina instead. The girl grins from ear to ear as she holds up her hands in surrender.

“Sorry! Sorry. It’s just me.” Karolina releases a puzzlingly lighthearted giggle, though Nico wonders if she should have anticipated it at this point. Karolina established it the moment they met; nothing about her matches the subdued, muted atmosphere of the Gibborim Asylum. She doesn’t fit into a place like this. Everything about the situation feels unnatural.

Nico finds herself both awestruck by the girl once more and irritated at the sudden interruption. “You always sneak up on people without warning?”

Karolina’s giggle subsides. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says. “I just saw you over here by yourself and I thought—”

“Yeah, well, you’ll find most people here like to be by themselves.”

“Oh.” Karolina’s soothing voice falters. “Right. I…I can leave you alone.”

“No. No, it’s fine.” Giving her head a quick shake, Nico averts her gaze to her feet, then back to the desolate brick building. She hugs herself, cupping her elbows in her palms as though to protect herself from the sudden chill the breeze washes over her. She won’t admit to anyone the real reason she does it is for comfort, to create whatever protective boundary she can from the uncomfortable tug in the pit of her stomach Karolina incites within her. She can’t put her finger on it. She isn’t sure she wants to.

She listens to the little crunch beneath Karolina’s foot as the girl steps closer. Nico hugs herself even tighter.

“What is that place?” Karolina asks.

Nico shrugs. “Some electrical building for additional supplies.” she answers. This was the last thing she’d expected Karolina to say.

Karolina’s brow quirks upward. “Why do you think it’s all the way out there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, have you been there before?”

Nico shifts uncomfortably. “No.”

“Then, how can you be sure it’s an electrical building?”

“I _don’t know_. What is this, some kind of interrogation?” Nico can’t help the biting tone in her voice now as she finally turns her head to look up at Karolina. “When I said it was okay for you to stay here I didn’t mean you could suddenly grill me for information like this.”

Karolina’s eyes widen briefly, and she takes a small step back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frustrate you, I was just…” Her blue eyes flit back over toward the electrical building, skimming the trees beyond it as though fishing for the right words in her mind. “I’m just trying to figure things out.”

Nico’s brow furrows as she studies Karolina, feeling a little freer to do so now that the girl isn’t looking back at her. “Figure what things out?” she asks.

Karolina’s eyes remain on the building through the wire fencing as she shakes her head slightly. The light wind tousles her golden hair, brushes it gently against her flushed cheek. Nico has the sudden curious urge to tuck the strands behind Karolina’s ear. Instead, she tightens her grip on her own elbows.

“I don’t know,” Karolina answers finally. “Things about this place. About Gibborim. Why I’m here. Even things as simple as what that building is, for example.” She waves a hand in the direction of the forest. “It seems like no one here really knows anything for certain.”

“Someone’s sounding like a conspiracy theorist over here.” Nico forces a chuckle, tries to make her voice sound as jovial and teasing as possible, but she’d be lying if she told herself Karolina’s words didn’t just leave an uneasy sensation settling deep within her chest. She attempts to dislodge it with a deep breath.

Turning back to look at the building herself, Nico continues. “Anyway, someone explained everything about the purpose of that place to me a long time ago, but…it’s just hard for me to remember.”

“Seems a lot of things are hard to remember lately.” Karolina’s voice lowers as she says this.

Nico finds herself nodding. “Maybe,” she says. The uneasiness in her chest increases, and she wishes with every fiber of her being that she could give Karolina some kind of answer, to placate her insatiable curiosity with an explanation that didn’t sound unequivocally obtuse. She just wants Karolina to stop looking for answers where she shouldn’t.

For a moment Nico’s tempted to bring up Janet’s words, to explain the science behind dissociative amnesia, but she holds her tongue, thinks better of it. Something tells her Karolina won’t want to listen to it. 

“Listen,” she begins. She can feel her fingernails digging into her sleeves, and she attempts to loosen her grip. “All these questions you’re asking. This whole…questioning everything and everyone…it’s…it’s not a good idea. It’s going to get you in trouble. Get you sent to Solitary Confinement like Molly, and—”

“Who’s Molly?”

“ _It doesn’t matter_.” Whirring on Karolina suddenly, Nico can feel the panic creeping up the back of her throat. “What matters is, she’s gone now and who the hell knows when she’ll come back. If she does. And if you keep asking me these questions, you’re gonna get us both in trouble.”

Karolina looks genuinely alarmed. “Nico—”

“Look, I get that you’re new here and confused and scared, but I have no idea who you are or why you continue to approach me, and I…” Scanning the yard wildly as she fishes for the right words, Nico finds a small wave of relief washing over her as she spots a flash of purple hair lingering near the hospital’s back entrance.

Karolina takes a step forward. Nico feels her warm fingertips brush her wrist. “Nico, I—”

“I can’t risk never coming back outside again,” Nico continues as she shies away from Karolina’s touch. “I’m sorry.”

Karolina’s lips part again, but Nico is already turning away. Fighting to steady her breathing, she quickens her pace as she crosses the yard toward the promising sanctuary of Gert’s company, blinking rapidly in some desperate attempt to erase the ache-inducing hurt she can still see etched into Karolina’s pretty face. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! Before moving forward, I wanted to leave a quick note letting you know that I plan to watch Runaways Season 3 very slowly. I want to be able to savor the journey, so please refrain from discussing season spoilers with me in the comments if possible! Again, thank you so much and I appreciate the understanding. :) 
> 
> \- Lauren


End file.
